


It Starts and Ends with Firewhiskey

by teamrocket



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-18
Updated: 2012-06-18
Packaged: 2017-11-08 01:41:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamrocket/pseuds/teamrocket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Draco sees his son Scorpius off at the train station on his first day of school, his eyes meet Harry's. He goes home and reflects about their history together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Starts and Ends with Firewhiskey

**Author's Note:**

> This originally started out as a sentence from a Scorpius/James fanfiction that I'm writing, and turned into, well, this. I am not sorry. Heavily based on canon.

 Returning to King's Cross was nostalgic. The ruckus of young, excited kids chasing each other and eagerly showing off their new wands, mums fussing over their children, and the muggles pointing at the slew of families "wearing cult-like garments" with their carts laden with trunks, broomsticks, and owls perching in their cages – Draco smiled fondly at it all, reminiscing about his first time. It had been exactly thirty-six years ago.

Now it was his son's turn to live it. Draco ruffled Scorpius's white-blond hair and patted him on the back. He beamed fondly at his son, who was chattering away, eager and excited to start school.

Draco turned around, and the smile froze on his face, the corners turning down so that it resembled a cross between what it originally was and a grimace. His gray eyes met a pair of green that he would know anywhere. Suddenly, the train station was too loud and stuffy; he couldn't wait to leave.

He gave Potter a stiff nod and quickly turned back around. Scorpius had already run off, leaving him alone with Astoria. There was no love in their marriage; it had been an arranged one. Living together was agreeable, although Draco couldn't imagine how much emptier it would be around the manor now that Scorpius was at school.

They waited to wave at Scorpius as the train pulled away from the station before Apparating away. Yet, for Draco, it was already five minutes too late.

*

The next day, Draco sat alone in his office, thinking. Astoria was out; Draco didn't want to know where, doing what or whom. One arm gripped the side of the leather armchair while the other propped his head up. In his thoughts, he wandered back to year three.

~

It was difficult for him to come to terms with his sexuality. He first noticed it at thirteen during Quidditch. His eyes lingered on his male teammates and other Houses' alike. He had to tear his eyes away, mentally scolding himself. _Stop that! Malfoys can't be gay! I'm not gay. I'm just jealous of their bodies, which I have no reason to be – I'm a Malfoy_ , he unsuccessfully tried to convince himself.

Worst of all was Potter. Fucking Potter. Oh, Salazar, he wanted – No! He wanted to... _Damn_ him! He couldn't keep his eyes off him, and his imagination often ran wild with him. He wanted to feel that dark unruly hair underneath his fingers, gaze into those deep green eyes of his, and taste the pumpkin juice fresh on his lips. And he hated himself so much for it.

Even worse, he hated Potter. It was _his_ fault he was like this. It was _his_ fault he tempted him so much. It was _his_ fault that he drifted into his head every time he wanked, despite the futile attempts that he made to picture the centerfolds from the _Witchhouse_ magazines that Goyle smuggled in.

The young Malfoy's fingers furiously slid up and down his length.  _Fucking Potter_ , he thought angrily at the image of the Gryffindor taking his shirt off that would not  _go_ .  _AWAY_ ! He groaned, jerking one last time before his penis erupted, and cum splattered all over his chest.

There was one time, during a Quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor, where he and Potter had been neck in neck, chasing after the snitch. He could feel Harry's breath, taste his scent in the air around them...

Draco's fingers reached out to grasp the snitch...and he fumbled. It slipped out from under his fingers, and Potter easily grabbed it. Draco had been humiliated.

In DADA, the boggart had transformed into a closet, shuddering as it hit the floor. Draco flushed with pain and shame, fearing that none of his classmates would figure it out, but they all seemed perplexed. Only Lupin seemed to figure it out – Draco could see it in his eyes – and the dislike he felt towards the professor turned to hate.

He tried flirting back at Pansy, but he felt indifference towards her. Still, he forced those smiles on his face and his fingers on her hair, tucking a stray piece behind her ear. It wasn't that girls were repugnant; they just didn't have the same allure for him that all his friends had. He mentally beat into himself, punishing his brain for not letting him be straight. He was miserable.

~

Year four was a bit different. Potter had to, of course, be special and have himself chosen as one of the Hogwarts _champions_ in the Triwizard Cup. Draco was one of the ringleaders in rallying against him, distributing the flashing pins that switched between “Support Cedric Diggory, the Real Hogwarts Champion” and “Potter Stinks.”

Draco had been goading him one afternoon, tailing him as he walked into an empty corridor. Potter had suddenly cornered him, shoving him against the wall and jerking him by the shirt.

“Piss off, Malfoy,” he hissed menacingly. Draco looked into his eyes, catching his breath. They were so close, their noses almost touching. Draco could taste the Gryffindor's breath. He could feel the boy's hair tickling his forehead. Draco couldn't help it; he kissed him, closing the short distance between their mouths.

The Gryffindor's lips were as soft as he'd imagined them. Their tongues slid past each other, and Harry's hand was entangled in his hair; he was kissing him back! He was pressing back, cupping Draco's cheek, melting into him. The Slytherin was enveloped in Harry, and he craved more. Draco's eyes suddenly flew open, and he shoved the boy off of him, breaking the kiss. Harry –  _no_ , Potter – gave him a confused look. Draco looked at him, wide-eyed, with an inkling of fear in his gray eyes. They stared at each other wordlessly for a second before Draco pushed past the Gryffindor and scurried down the corridor.

He spent the next couple of days going out of his way to avoid Harry, taking the long routes to class and flying out of his seat as soon as the bell rang in the classes that they had together. It didn't take long for Harry to chase him down, however.

Harry pressed him against the wall outside an abandoned classroom so he couldn't escape. “Why'd you kiss me?” he demanded.

“I'm not gay,” Draco blurted out. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“The hell you aren't!  _You_ kissed me, remember?”

“I know, but...I'm not gay,” he repeated himself, his face sagging in defeat. Harry studied him, his green eyes penetrating into Draco's.

“That's too bad,” he murmured softly into Draco's ear, his voice dropping an octave, sending chills down the blonde's back, “because I  _am_ .” Harry pressed his mouth against his, and Draco's knees almost gave out as he was taken aback in surprise. If the last kiss, the  _first_ kiss, was tentative and sweet, then this one was rough and angry. Draco's hands were framing Harry's face, curling up into loose balls.  _His skin is so soft_ , he thought absentmindedly, getting lightheaded, as he nibbled lightly on his lower lip.

They were both gasping for air when they finally broke apart. Harry's body was still leaning against Draco's, their chests touching. Draco could feel his heart beat against his. The only sound he could hear was their breaths and Harry's pulse as they both steadied themselves.

“Are you still not gay?” Harry finally asked, his green eyes fixing on his face. Draco gazed into them. They were so luminous, so entrancing. He realized that he had lifted his hand up to Harry's face, brushing it lightly against his cheek. Draco let out an awkward chuckle, expelling the breath that he hadn't realized that he was holding.

He reached out and took Harry's face between his hands, his grip gentle but firm. He pulled him in for another kiss, a more gentler kiss.

When they broke apart, Harry was grinning. “Well, I guess that answers that,” he said, tracing Draco's jaw with his finger. Draco came to his senses and jerked away.

“You can't tell anyone, Potter! Or else the -” His tongue tripped over the words urgently tumbling out of his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah. Or else the Malfoy name will be at stake. That doesn't mean that I can't still have you.” Draco shivered under the intensity of his eyes.

“We'll keep this under wraps, okay? If anyone finds out, then it's all over, Potter.”

“We'll pretend like this never happened, and we'll still pretend to hate each other in public,” Harry promised.

Draco curled up his lip. “Who's pretending?” Harry pursed his lips.

“See if you can sneak away tomorrow during breakfast. We'll meet in that empty classroom on the third floor near the Charms corridor.” Harry's sweet breath was beckoning him. He shoved himself against the Gryffindor, catching him off guard, and they tumbled onto the floor, with Draco on top. They remained on the floor, looking at each other, exchanging breaths. Finally, Harry smirked.

“Are you sure you'll be able to last the night?” he teased. Draco flushed.

“Be quiet, Potter, and kiss me.”

*

He had returned to the Slytherin common room grinning dopily, sinking into one of the green leather sofas. Harry's scent was on him, and he could still smell his hair, his skin, his clothes. He felt like that one time when he had experimentally drank a glass of his father's Firewhiskey.

“Oi, Malfoy!” Zabini snapped his fingers in front of his face, trying to get his attention. “What are you so happy about?” Draco blinked.

“Just imagining Potter being eaten by a dragon,” he quickly fibbed. The whole school knew about the dragons by now, naturally; word traveled fast at Hogwarts. The small cluster of Slytherins nodded, accepting his answer as a viable one. Draco soon excused himself from the common room, realizing that he wasn't going to be thinking about much except for Harry. He stared at the rectangle of ceiling above his bed, not truly seeing it, as he thought of one thing and one thing only.

He was 10 minutes late to Potions that day.

~

Draco gripped Harry's arm and ran down the empty hallway, laughing and pulling the Gryffindor with him. Puffing for breath, he opened the door to an empty classroom a crack, just wide enough for himself, and slid in, still keeping a firm grip on Harry's arm. He heard the sound of Harry hitting his head against the door and swearing. They had twenty minutes before Draco had to be down at the Quidditch pitch.

Draco pushed Harry against the wall, their bodies colliding, and crushed his lips against his. Draco could feel teeth biting, nibbling, _grazing_ his lips. His hand snaked up to Harry's neck, and he weaved it in his hair. He poked his tongue into Harry's mouth, it opening wider, and felt Harry's tongue grinding against his.

Draco moaned, yanking Harry's hair, and ground his hips against the shorter boy's. He felt the bulge in his pants start to stiffen, and he could feel Harry's, too. His hand shot up the Gryffindor's shirt, pushing it up, and Harry shuddered in response. Merlin. He felt his smooth, pale torso, the hard muscles from Quidditch practice, tense. He needed to see them again.

Harry whimpered as Draco pulled his hips back, the Gryffindor thrusting forward. Draco held him back more forcefully, the Gryffindor's shoulder blades scraping against the wall. Quickly, he undid the buttons and slid the garment off the other boy's arms, letting it fall to the ground.

Harry's pale chest seemed to radiate from the light shining in through the window. Draco ran his hands down it, his nails raking lightly, and he felt the other boy's muscles contract. The blonde planted his mouth on the other boy's jaw, sucking at it, before sliding it downwards, causing Harry to groan. Heat radiated from the Gryffindor's neck, and Draco felt the vibrations from under his lips.

He left a trail of reddish-pink bite marks from Harry's neck to his collarbone, his teeth raking across skin. Draco's tongue skimmed across the other boy's firm pecs and stopped at the small pink bud. He smirked deviously and placed his mouth over the Gryffindor's nipple, hovering close enough for Harry to feel his warm breath, teasing the boy. Harry shuddered in anticipation of what was to come.

Draco finally bridged the distance, pressing his mouth on the boy's chest, causing Harry to jump. Grinning, he flicked his tongue against the pink bud rapidly, savoring the loud moans of pleasure he elicited that escaped Harry's mouth. Harry yanked several tufts of his blond hair, his eyes half-lidded. Draco's mouth moved over to the other one and...

“Whoops, time for Quidditch. Too bad, eh, Potter?” Draco stood up, his mouth twisted into a cruel smile. Harry toppled over and made a rude hand gesture.

“I'm sure you'll appreciate it, though, when we kick your ass on Saturday.” Draco smoothed out the wrinkles from his shirt and patted down his hair.

“You're welcome to stop by in the locker room after Quidditch, though. I'll be all sweaty and shirtless, and in need of a shower, but you'll just have to deal with that, Potter,” he added as he sauntered out of the room. Draco smirked; he could feel Harry's eyes boring into his backside. _Damn, I am_ so _gay._

~

They didn't get any further than passionate snogging and blowjobs that year. However, year five was when they finally stopped beating around the bushes – although those quick handjobs in random broom cupboards were pleasurable.

They had rendezvoused at the Room of Requirement at midnight around the beginning of the year, and it had appeared with large windows almost as tall as the room itself with the moon shining in. Somewhere in the back of Draco's mind, he wondered if that meant that Harry had a slight exhibitionist kink.

Draco hastily shoved his shirt over his head and flung it across the room. He ripped Harry's off his shoulder as the other boy bit into his lip, hungrily kissing him with his hands all over Draco's pale face, grinding into each other. The moonlight made the Slytherin look even paler and accented the contrast between their hair colors, Draco's blond hair shining bright white and Harry's an ebony blue.

A wide, king-sized bed appeared in the middle of the room, and they slowly moved towards it, not looking up from their passionate snogging. Harry bent backwards, lying on the bed with his legs dangling off the edge as Draco hurriedly tore off the trousers that he wore underneath his robes; while many still wore robes in the traditional sense, it was becoming fashionable to wear trousers underneath.

Harry groaned, feeling Draco's quick hands pull off his boxer briefs. He felt Draco's warm mouth on his dick and moaned as the other boy quickly undid his own pants and slid them off. Draco climbed on top of him, roughly kissing him and sliding Harry's body over so they fit better on the bed. He ground his hips against the other boy's, their erections rubbing against each other. The Slytherin moaned into Harry's mouth, biting his lower lip.

“Open your legs,” he ordered, his voice low and husky. Harry complied eagerly, thrusting his pelvis upwards to allow Draco better access. Draco picked up the small bottle of lube that appeared next to them on the bed, almost dropping it. He wriggled a finger into Harry, sliding it in and out a couple of times before adding another. Harry squirmed in pleasure, moaning. Draco pushed his fingers in deeper, thrusting in and out, causing Harry to arch his back. A sort of strangled squeak came out of his mouth.

“More, more,” he begged desperately, his voice causing Draco's dick to stiffen even more. He added a third finger, eliciting short moans from Harry as he reinserted his fingers. Draco did this with one hand while he applied lubricant to his cock, his gray eyes half-lidded in pleasure as he watched Harry writhe on the bed.

“Fuck, c'mon, _oh_ ,” Harry moaned, his voice rising half an octave on the last word. Draco grunted in response and removed his fingers, positioning himself at Harry's opening. He traced the rim slowly, teasingly. Harry squirmed and thrusted towards him, whimpering in anticipation. The blonde smirked.

“No, no,” he said softly, his eyes glimmering mischievously, withdrawing himself. Harry groaned in sexual agony.

“Get on with it, you prat,” he begged. Draco enjoyed teasing him; he enjoyed the game. Far too much, by the looks of it. Thankfully, for Harry, he wasn't  _totally_ heartless.

Draco held onto Harry's hips and pressed forward, the tight ring of muscle giving way. Draco stifled a moan. Fuck, Harry was so warm, so tight. Harry gasped and gripped onto the sheets. Rocking his hips back and forth, Draco slowly thrusted in and out at first.  _Oh, Merlin's pants. Ohhhhh. Fuck._ He was losing himself in incoherency.

Draco couldn't form a thought to save his life. His mind was clouded up, hazy, and he was lost in ecstasy. The sound of his –  _boyfriend? Partner? –_ whatever-he-was moaning registered in his head, but other than that, he was physically incapable of noticing anything else. If the castle had chosen to spontaneously combust right then, they would have continued on fucking, too lost in each other to notice.

Harry's legs were hooked around Draco's arms, and they clenched and unclenched. “Fuck Malfoy,” he groaned, his voice breathy and rough, “harder. _Ooooh_ , faster.” Draco's grip on his hips tightened, and he slid into him faster. Merlin, he was totally unprepared for how it would feel, how his body _squeezed_ around him. And the heat, the pleasantly burning furnace. Oh, fuck. A low moan escaped Draco's lips. His breathing grew ragged, and he clenched his jaw.

The faster he thrusted, the tighter it felt, like his cock was being milked. He heard a distant string of moans and profanities but didn't make the connection that they were coming out of his mouth. Harry's whole body was quivering, his back arched high and one hand clenching the bedsheets while the other moving up and down his shaft. Harry's toes were pointed, digging into the blonde's back. Draco's hands slid downwards to Harry's arse, trembling, as he fought to keep pushing forward, his strokes going deeper and deeper. His whole body was unsteadily shivering, and he was on the brink of orgasm. Any minute now.

Draco's vision blurred, patches of color dancing across his field of vision, his brain sizzling white-hot. He pushed forward one last time, and his hips tightened.  _Oh!_ He raggedly gasped, his eyes half-lidded and his mouth stretched wide open. Harry made a strangled gurgle noise.

The Gryffindor tilted his hips up, warm thickness filling him up inside. His cock twitched, and he came, warm, sticky whiteness squirting on Draco's chest, mingling with the sweat. He gave Draco a hazy grin, his heart beating rapidly, before collapsing backwards. There was an understood agreement between the two that this would become a regular occurrence.

~

Harry had managed to slip Draco into the Gryffindor common room one night. It had been the hardest shag session yet...no pun intended – well, okay, maybe a _little_. The two had attempted to keep quiet to avoid waking Harry's roommates; Draco's sharp whimpers sounded pitiful, and Harry had to bite down on Draco's shoulder to stifle his screams. No matter how gently Harry tried to rock his hips, the mattress creaked loudly, and once, Ron mumbled something in his sleep, causing Harry and Draco to both freeze, with Harry's cock still buried inside Draco.

They had collapsed on each other, weary, and fallen asleep naked, their legs entwined. Draco groggily opened his eyes, his blond hair sticking up in all directions, smelling strongly of sex. Harry had woken up before him and had been silently tracing circles in his chest; Draco would have prodded him until he woke up or poked him in the eye.

Harry smiled fondly at him. “Morning, sunshine. I was going to wake you up with an early morning blowjob but considering how much you talk, I didn't think I could count on you to shut your gob. Did I ever tell you how pale you are?”

Draco glowered at him. “And I had so many hopes for that sentence.” Harry opened his mouth to reply, but then they heard a scuffle outside. The two locked eyes in panic, frozen.

“Shit, shit,” Draco was the first to recover. “Quick, where's the invisibility cloak?” They dug through several layers of clothes and blankets before finding it. Draco tossed it on in the nick of time.

Ron pulled the curtains away. Harry quickly covered himself with his discarded robe, wishing that he could dive under the sheets that Draco was sitting on. He noticed that it was, in fact, _Draco's_ robe and moved his hand to cover the Slytherin crest, hoping that Ron didn't notice.

Thankfully, Ron was a bit preoccupied with something else. The red-head scrunched up his nose .

“Oi!” he said loudly, “Have you been wanking? It smells like sex in here.” Seamus and Dean turned around, sniggering, while Neville blushed, looking embarrassed for him.

“Morning to you too,” Harry muttered, his cheeks taking on a rosy pink tinge.

“Just saying, mate. If you're going to wank, you should clean up after yourself, eh? We'd understand. Thinking of Cho, eh?” Ron grinned knowingly while Seamus and Dean made kissy-faces in the background. Harry threw a pillow at him.

“I'll meet you guys in the Great Hall, okay? Go on without me; I have to get dressed.” Draco waited anxiously for them to leave before pulling the invisibility cloak off.

“Cho?” he asked flatly.

“Look, Draco, I swear, she's just a coverup for you. I had to fabricate excuses on where I'd been when I was with you. Otherwise, Hermione would've figured it out for sure.”

“It takes a lot to mislead Granger, Potter. How stupid do you think I am?”

“Draco, you can't honestly believe that I'd like her. She's just a beard.”

“A beard that you kiss and ask to the Yule Ball and go on silly dates with?” Draco spat out, jealousy and betrayal clear in his voice. Harry threw his hands up in frustration.

“I didn't go to the Yule Ball with her!”

“Only because she turned you down.” Draco was mad, but he was still careful not to mention Cedric. Still, Harry's lips tightened.

“What about you and Pansy?! You looked like you were having such a swell time with your hands all over her, your bodies pressed up against each other. In case you didn't notice, I didn't dance with Parvati except for the mandatory ones for Champions!”

“But I'm not the famous _Boy Who Lived_! I don't have people lining up, throwing themselves at me, unless you count Pansy! You don't have to worry about what I'm up to because, for me, there's only you! I'm no one special, but everyone wants to be with you!” Draco shouted. He felt tears starting to well up. Harry fell silent, and his anger wiped itself off his face. Draco heard Harry sigh.

“Oh, Draco,” he murmured, cradling the Slytherin to his bare chest. Draco refused to look him in the eye. Harry held Draco silently for a moment, both of them still naked.

“Listen, you're the only one for me, too. You don't have to worry about anyone else. I've only got eyes for you.” He planted a kiss on the blonde's cheek and buried his face into his hair.

“You're so pale,” he murmured. “It looks good on you. You're so cute, jealous, you know that?” He tickled him under the chin and gave him a squeeze. Draco twisted his head backwards to kiss Harry, his face upside-down. They sat there for a moment before Draco spoke up.

“You know, I hated you,” he admitted. “I hated you because I couldn't stop thinking about you; I couldn't stop wanting you. I blamed you for this. You know, being gay and all.” Harry pondered this silently for a second, resting his chin on Draco's shoulder.

“Well, what do you think now?” he finally asked.

“I think that I'm gay.” Draco realized that he'd never actually admitted it out loud before. Harry chuckled.

“That, you are. Now, get out of my bed, you flaming homo, before I stop resisting and take you.” Draco couldn't help but to sneak a glance at Harry's cock, which was semi-erect against his leg. Harry grinned sheepishly.

Draco made sure to bend over as many times as possible as he put his clothes on.

~

“What about next Wednesday, then, at nine?”

“Er, can't. I'm...” Harry hesitated, “ _busy_.” Draco's eyes narrowed.

“What have you been up to? Where do you disappear off to when you're  _busy_ ?” Harry had been making flimsy excuses for weeks, and he was sick of it.

“I can't tell you,” Harry squirmed guiltily. Draco whirled around, his gray eyes blazing metal ice.

“What do you mean,  _you can't tell me_ ?! What are you keeping from me? What is it you don't want me to know?!” he demanded.

“Look, I just can't tell you because, you know... _Umbridge_ . It's nothing personal or anything.”

“Umbridge?! You think that just because I'm in her good books that I'd go running to her, playing snitch?”

“I'm sorry, okay? I just can't,” Harry said quietly, which only fanned the flames.

“Right. Well, good luck with that,” Draco spat out, feeling betrayed. He slammed the door to the Room of Requirement on the way out.

~

Harry was absolutely livid with fury. Draco had never seen him so angry. He knew once as the words left his mouth that what he had just said was unforgivable. He deserved whatever came next.

He could see it in Harry's eyes that he was lost in anger. The Slytherin had gone overboard in playing his role of hating Harry; he hadn't meant any of what he said. He simply borrowed the popular opinions of his fellow Housemates and used them as taunts. That was their arrangement since they'd began dating to throw everyone off, only now, perhaps he'd just thrown Harry off. The Gryffindor usually just asked him to perhaps lay off on his friends a little bit, and Malfoy would comply, but he never minded when Draco insulted himself until now.

Harry lunged at him, snarling primally, as well as one of the Weasel twins. Draco lifted his hand up, shielding his face, and winced as they viciously beat into him.

While he wouldn't lay a hand against Harry, he had no qualms against hurting Twiddle Dee (or Twiddle Dum, whichever one he was). Draco's foot made contact with the Weasley's face, kicking his lip and jaw.

Harry's fist caught him in the stomach, knocking the breath out of him, and a whimper escaped his mouth. He curled up in pain, and Harry's fist smashed into his nose and then his jaw. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, kicking the Weasley twin again, this time in the chest. He was vaguely aware of his mouth moving and sound coming out of it; only afterward would he feel the raspy burning in his throat.

There was a frenzy of people surrounding them, shouting, their voices sounding distant to Draco. He felt the Weasley boy, who was unleashing a string of profanities, being knocked backwards. Then, Harry. He let out an involuntary groan.

He vaguely noticed Madame Pomfrey treating him, clicking her tongue and muttering. Harry was gone, to receive his punishment, no doubt. Draco hoped that however unlikely it would be, McGonagall would go easy on him. Fuck, what was wrong with him, crossing the only line that Harry had drawn?

 _Dammit, Draco, you ruin everything for yourself. The Dark Lord can't even turn Harry against you more than you just did yourself_ , he thought miserably. He was overcome with guilt and remorse. Draco hated himself. He was the one who deserved to be punished, not Harry.

Madame Pomfrey yanked him up roughly, and Draco was vaguely aware that Crabbe was saying something to him. He nodded absentmindedly as they walked back to the castle, with Crabbe prattling all the way there and Draco silently ripping himself to shreds.

Love was complicated.

*

Harry wouldn't so much even look at him after that. Draco later heard from Montague that he had been slammed with a "lifelong Quidditch ban." Draco had felt hollow when he heard those words. He wanted to hold his head in his hands and cry, but of course, he couldn't. Instead, he forced a smile on his face and faked delight. It was harder than pretending to be straight.

*

They had passed each other in the hallway several weeks later. Harry looked straight ahead, pretending to not even see him, but Draco could see the outline of his lips tightening, squeezed into a flat line.

As they walked past each other, Draco quietly said, "I'm sorry." Harry stiffened, and he sped up, taking brisk, long strides. Draco drew his lips up in defeat.

~

Draco cursed mentally at Marietta, the stupid girl. They'd been given orders to catch members of Harry's group, and Draco had volunteered to capture Potter. He just wanted to talk to him; he'd turn him free afterward and claim that he escaped through his fingers. Umbridge wouldn't like it, but he didn't care.

Draco squatted behind a vase on the way to the Gryffindor tower and waited. He felt a bit guilty for snapping at Harry a couple months ago when he wouldn't tell him what he was doing. _If he had just told me what it was, I would've been okay with it. I wouldn't have been Marietta; he could've trusted me_ , Draco pouted, jutting out his lower lip. And then... _Well, look where trusting_ you _got him!_

Harry raced past him then, and Draco mentally apologized for what he was about to do. He flicked his wand, casting a Trip Jinx.

“Trip Jinx, Potter!” he called out, whooping. “Hey, Professor – PROFESSOR! I've got one!” He crouched down beside Harry and grabbed his arm.

In a low voice, he said, “I'll let you go before Umbridge shows up if you just hear me out. Listen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said, and I know I was wrong. Just, forgive me, please?”

Harry jerked his arm away and ignored him, setting his jaw tenaciously. Draco's eyes traveled down his face and he shook his head, disappointed.  _Salazar, he is so stubborn. I miss him so much._

“Last chance, Potter. I'll let you go, no strings attached. Just give the word.” Harry continued to ignore him, even after Umbridge showed up and took him away. Draco never felt so alone.

*

Draco joined the Inquisitorial Squad, not only because it was expected of him and his father would hear of it if he decline, but also because if Harry was up to something again – and Draco _knew_ he was – then perhaps he'd have the opportunity to cover for him. Also, he wanted to see if his absence was affecting Harry at all, yet every time they ran into each other, Harry pretended that there was never anything more between them, cutting Draco to the core.

He sauntered up to him – flanked by Crabbe and Goyle – freshly inducted into the Inquisitorial Squad. Harry was surrounded by a cluster of his friends, as usual, with the regular speckled and mousy faces, as well as the doughy-faced Hufflepuff. He twisted his mouth into a cold sneer; it didn't show, but the facade was wearing him thin, and he had the strongest urge break down into profusive apologies. His eyes bore into Harry, who, of course, ignored him.

Malfoy began docking points from the cluster. “...Five because I don't like you, Potter...” he added petulantly, his lower lip jutting out. It couldn't be farther from the truth. He saw Harry almost snort, before catching himself, like before whenever Draco was insulting him in public.  _Please, chuckle. Snort. Anything. Just give me a sign that you forgive me. Please_ , Malfoy begged him silently, his eyes giving him a desperate look. Harry must have recognized it because he turned his back. Fine. Be that way. The Slytherin's eyes hardened.

“Be good now, Potty... Weasel King...” he tacked on, careful not to seem like he was focusing on only Potter. Which he was. He strode off with Crabbe and Goyle silently following him.

~

His sixth year was incredibly painful, being recruited as a Death Eater and all. It wasn't like he had any choice in the matter; he had to do it for his family. While he certainly wasn't a pro-Muggle activist, his own ideology wasn't as _radical_ as the Death Eaters', and he didn't have anything against Dumbledore – at least, not enough to kill him – but he had to do it. It wasn't his own life he was scared for; it was his mum and dad's.

He had attempted to play off of it at the beginning to try and regain some of his lost popularity after his father was sent to Azkaban. Yet, at the end of the day, he was just a tired and scared little boy in over his head.

He didn't have time to deal with Potter or anything that wasn't fulfilling his mission. It was Dumbledore or his family, and that wasn't something that he was willing to wager.

Potter, of course, caught on quickly that he was up to something. His tenacity, what Draco originally found slightly endearing, was seriously irritating him. The brunette had pulled him aside on the train.

“Listen, Draco, I know that things ended roughly for us,” he began.

“You don't say,” Draco said dryly.

“Anyway, what you did – I've moved on. I'm not saying that I forgive you, but I'm putting it behind us, and well,” he trailed off, a bit unsure on how to phrase things.

“Look, Potter, just say what you came to say. We both know this isn't a social call. Otherwise, you would've waited.” The Gryffindor looked mildly annoyed; he had obviously planned an overt presentation, possibly drafted by Granger. Draco smirked at the thought; he wouldn't put it past him.

“Well,” he shuffled about uncomfortably, “listen, Draco. I know that perhaps you're not willing to listen to a lecture from me of all people right now after how we ended things and how I treated you.”

“Gee, this sounds promising,” Draco cut in.

“Just listen, okay? I know you're up to something, and I just want to say that I know you're fundamentally a good person. You're not horrible; you know how to make the right choices. Otherwise, I wouldn't have...you know...” They both glanced around, making sure that no one was listening.

“Fundamentally a good person? You're too kind. Anyway, Potter, you're not my mother.”

“I know I'm not,” he interjected, “but I can't just idly watch from the sidelines as you do something you'll regret.”

“Damn you will! Look, Potter, what I do is none of your concern anymore. You can't change my mind. I have to do this, okay? It's not my choice anymore, okay?”

“So you are working for Voldemort, aren't you?” Draco didn't answer. Harry lowered his voice. “Listen, I'm sure Dumbledore will protect you and your family. He'll keep them safe.”

“Like he kept your parents safe?” Harry's eyes hardened, and Draco couldn't help but feel a mild satisfaction. He couldn't care about Harry or his feelings, now. Not when so much was at stake.

“I'm not here to fight, Malfoy,” he said, his voice strained. “If you won't listen to me, then you'll understand that it is my duty to stop you, and I _will_.”

Draco shook his head in mock disapproval. “Oh, you Gryffindors, so bold and reckless with your hero complexes. Always charging into battle with your wands drawn out. It baffles me how many of you keep dropping dead.” He chortled manically like it was a joke, only it sounded too loud, too  _cruel_ , for that. Harry said nothing, standing there, seething, as he conspicuously wrapped his hand around the base of his wand.

Draco only smirked. “Don't meddle with things you don't understand, young Padawan,” he said sagely, coaxing a smile from the Gryffindor. When they had been together, Draco had been subjected to many Muggle movies, and he secretly enjoyed a few of them. With a sweep of his robe, Draco returned to his compartment, turning his back on Harry.  _Caring is a disadvantage_ , he mentally lectured himself,  _so stop it. It'll only come back to hurt you –_ and _Mum and Father – in the end._

*

“The end justifies the means.” was his motto that year. He trained himself to recognize Harry as an enemy once more, one that stood between his family and safety. In the end, though, he finally had to come face to face with what he had known in the beginning: he simply could not kill Dumbledore. He felt a surge of gratitude embedded in anger and remorse when Snape stepped in for him. _How many more people do I owe?_ he wondered.

Shock kept him rooted to the ground, immobilized. He couldn't tear his eyes from Dumbledore's fragile, broken body. _How was this the once-great, most powerful wizard in the world?_ Snape jerked him by the scruff of his neck, knocking him out of his stunned stupor, and dragged him out of the door, fleeing. He ran, ran as fast as his legs would take him, ran away from the consequences, from Dumbledore's empty corpse, from his life as he knew it. He felt like nothing but a coward.

~

They only had three more encounters after that year. The first was, of course, at the Manor, when Draco had been asked to identify him.

The taller boy flinched when he heard his name, his heart pounding. The leather cushions released him as he rose from his armchair, walking slowly, _elegantly_ towards the captives. His gut twisted. and he desperately hoped that they got him wrong, that it wasn't Potter. Which, of course, it was.

Draco knew before he even saw him. Even though Harry was covered with grime and _Salazar knew how long he'd gone without bathing_ , Draco knew his ...ex-lover, _was it?,_ and his scent.

Harry was deliberately avoiding eye contact. Even distorted, his eyes were a dead giveaway, but you couldn't really expect a filthy _werewolf_ to notice that sort of thing, could you? Draco stayed behind his father, not wanting to come closer, afraid his reaction might jeopardize Harry.

 _Even in times like these, I'm looking out for you, putting you in front of even my family, Potter_ , he thought resentfully.

"Well, Draco?" his father prompted. "Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"

Draco swallowed. "I can't – I can't be sure." Not the truth, but not a denial, too. Harry released the breath he'd been holding, realizing that Draco was still slightly on his side.

His father approached Harry, scrutinizing him himself. He called Draco forward to analyze him again.

Dread filled Draco up as he bent down, lining up his pointy face with Harry's squarer one. The last time his face was this close... Draco shut that out; he didn't want to think about it right now.

His father was eager, his face more animated with hope than it had for a long time. For this to be Harry would mean the Malfoy name re-elevated into its former status. His father clung to that hope desperately, but Draco didn't want that. He didn't want to turn in Potter, not even if it would mean reviving his father's happiness and comfort for his family once again.

He hoped Harry was grateful, but he doubted he was. In the end, Draco would just be stalling the inevitable, and there was no doubt that the deformed boy that knelt before him would mark it off as _too little, too late_.

Harry finally met his eyes, and they looked at each other for a second, an unspoken understanding occurring between them. It hurt to even look at those brilliant green eyes and know that they weren't his anymore. Discarded memories tugged at Draco's mind, bits and pieces of their relationship pelting the Slytherin like bullets, mortally wounding him and leaving him _bleeding on the ground, staggering as he took his final gasp and collapsing, his pale gray eyes wide open and his mouth a perfect "O" in surprise_ – until he finally had to tear his eyes away.

"I don't know," he said stupidly, retreating to the cold fireplace that hadn't been in use since the rise of the Dark Lord and the fall of the Malfoys, where his mother stood with her quick, sharp eyes, noticing everything. Another lie.

His mother stepped up, and Draco was quick to fade into the background, assimilating himself with the furniture. He stood out like a sore thumb, however. The furniture was regal, confident, while Draco felt anything but. He didn't feel like the pompous, high-class Draco Malfoy he was raised to be anymore; he felt like a prisoner in his own home.

"Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?" his mother addressed him. Draco snapped back into attention, jumping at the sound of his name. _If I confirm that it's Granger and Weasley, then it'll be a dead giveaway that that's Harry._

"I...maybe...yeah," Draco faltered, not sure what to say, not sure how much to give away. If he couldn't provide any information, they'd quickly see that he was deliberately withholding it.

"But then, that's the Weasley boy!" his father shouted, overcome with excitement. Draco winced.

"It's them, Potter's friends – Draco, look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's son, what's his name – ?" he prompted eagerly, nearly vibrating with anticipation.

"Yeah," Draco said unhappily, his mouth twisted at the wall. "It could be." He wasn't sure what else to say. Anything more misleading would make his motives transparent.

He didn't hear his aunt enter the room, but he flinched when she spoke, chills running down his spine. He glanced at Harry, who shot him a panicked cry for help. /If only I could/, Draco thought.

Draco watched helplessly as the dark-haired woman circled the trio dangerously. He desperately wanted to Apparate from the room entirely, perhaps seizing Harry last minute; he couldn't stand the tension in the room any longer. The blonde was paralyzed as his father and his aunt fought, silently pleading for a miracle.

To his surprise, he got one when his aunt's eyes landed upon the stolen sword. It was only a temporary one, nevertheless, but if he knew Harry like he knew Harry, he knew that the Gryffindor was skilled at narrowly escaping the impossible.

Sure enough, the Gryffindor lived up to Draco's expectations, snatching his wand, nonetheless. _Cheeky bastard_ , Draco thought sourly. _This is what I get for helping you._

*

Their next meeting was in the Room of Requirement. Draco couldn't help but think of the times he and Harry spent there as he entered the room, Crabbe and Goyle two paces behind him. They passed the cabinet that Harry had bent him over and fucked him on. They were desperately horny that day and only requested the room for somewhere to fuck, and it had given them this.

There was even one time when they couldn't make the three circles in front of the wall, and Harry simply got on all fours, Draco pounding into him right there in the open. They had set up wards, of course, that would alert them when someone came close, but it had felt so _liberating_.

Draco shoved the bittersweet memories out of his head. This was not the time. He couldn't afford to be soft right now, to put Potter first again; he had a job to do.

They followed Harry unnoticed, silently until the boy spotted the diadem. Draco was only a short stretched behind him when he spoke up.

“Hold it, Potter.” The boy flinched, spinning around to Draco with his arms crossed authoritatively, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle's outstretched wands.

“That's my wand you're holding, Potter,” he said, nodding at it as he stuck his mum's out. He saw Harry glance down at it and knew that the boy was remembering the time when Draco had thrusted it up his arse. A light pink crept up to Draco's cheeks, and he felt a surge of irritation at the warm glow on his face.

“Not anymore,” Harry panted, crudely covering up his smirk. “Winners, keepers, Malfoy,” he added cheekily. “Who's lent you theirs?”

“My mother,” Draco admitted wryly. A harsh sound vaguely resembling a laugh came out of Harry's mouth.  _Blimey, it shouldn't be like this._

He watched as Harry slowly inched towards the diadem, attempting to distract them with light banter at the same time.

“So how did you get in here?” he asked.

“I virtually lived in the Room of Hidden Things all last year,” Draco said, his voice rough and hollow as he thought of the previous year. “I know how to get in.”

Weasley's voice echoed in the room as he called out to Harry from a distance. “Harry? Are you talking to someone?” Crabbe jabbed his wand at the huge pile of discarded, forgotten objects. “ _Descendo!_ ” The pile crashed down, objects pelting the ground, obstructing the path. Crabbe was going to destroy the place!

Draco grabbed the boy's fleshy arm. “No!” he shouted. “If you wreck the room, you might bury this diadem thing!” He argued with the idiot until Harry, seizing the opportunity, lunged for the object. Crabbe flicked his wand, casting the Cruciatus Curse, and missed, sending the diadem flying instead.

“Stop!” the blonde shouted desperately, his voice echoing. “The Dark Lord wants him alive –”

“So? I'm not killing him, am I?” Crabbe yelled defiantly, jerking his arm out of Draco's grasp. A jet of scarlet light zipped through the air, narrowly missing Crabbe as Draco pulled him out of the way. Granger. Crabbe, missing as usual, shot a green streak of light. Harry, enraged, shot a Stunning Spell at Crabbe, who ducked, knocking the wand out of Draco's hand. It rolled behind a pile of clutter.

“Don't kill him!  DON'T KILL HIM!” Draco screamed at his two companions, who turned around in doubt at the sound of his shrill voice. Harry quickly disarmed them. Draco crouched behind a n old wardrobe, shielding himself from the skirmish. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to relieve the tension. The next thing he knew, the room was on fire.

Cursing at Crabbe, he grabbed Goyle, dangling limply, by the scruff of his shirt and ran, Goyle's feet dragging along the ground. Flames lapped at them from every corner, Herculean, fiery beasts emerging, ambushing them. Billows of smoke collected, and Draco could feel beads of sweat on his temple, running down his face. Pulling at Goyle, they climbed upon a heap of rubbish. The flames came closer, consuming everything in its path. Crabbe was perched up on a cupboard on top of the next heap, scared.

A noise, something streaking through the air, prompted Draco to look up and see two broomsticks whizzing in the air, one with Harry on it and the other with Granger and Weasley. He could see Harry dipping low, as if he were searching for something. The diadem, perhaps? Draco didn't dare to allow himself hope that he was looking for him; the disappointment would kill him more than the fire would. Crabbe let out a thin shriek, and Draco's head whipped over, but he had already disappeared. Draco stared at the ground where Crabbe would've fallen, searching. He felt hollow inside.

The blonde looked up and noticed a dot whizzing towards him. Harry. He raised an arm, and Harry grasped at it – electricity sparking between them as their fingertips touched – but Draco knew that it wouldn't work. His palms were too sweaty, Harry was going too fast, and Goyle was too heavy. Harry zipped by, his hand sliding out of Draco's.

“IF WE DIE FOR THEM, I'LL KILL YOU, HARRY!” the ginger roared, narrowly avoiding a fiery chimera as it arose, batting at him and Granger with its giant paw. He dove down, grabbing Goyle's unconscious body and lifting him onto the broom.

Harry dipped down again, and Draco leaped onto the broom, involuntarily holding onto Harry's sides, their bodies pressed up tightly against each other. He felt Harry catch his breath. It had been a while since they'd been this close. Draco couldn't help but picture Harry's bare backside.

“The door, get to the door, the door!” Draco screamed perhaps a bit too loudly into Harry's ear as he looked up, snapping out of the sexual tension. This was no time to relive old sexual fantasies. Harry sped up, trailing behind the other broom, racing through the clouds of thick black smoke. Draco choked, swallowing more and more smoke with each cough.

He felt the broom twist around, away from the door, and diving. “What are you doing, what are you doing, the door's that way!” Draco screamed, panicked. He peered over Harry's shoulder. The Gryffindor's arm was outstretched, grazing the falling tiara before he caught it; just because he hadn't played Quidditch for a year doesn't mean that he ever stopped being a Seeker.

A fiery serpent arose out of the flames, its jaws snapping at them. They soared in the air, swerving past its twisting head, towards the door. Weasley, Granger, and Goyle was nowhere in sight; Draco was hoping that they were alright but failing at his attempt at optimism.

He was aware that he was still screaming, and he was clinging on Harry for dear life. He couldn't see where they were going through the thick smoke and tightly squeezed his eyes shut, instead. If they were going to die, he didn't want to know about it. The next thing he knew, he was lying on the hard ground, face down, breathing clean air. He twitched up, gasping and choking, vomit spewing out of his mouth. Goyle was on the floor beside the other too, still blissfully unconscious.

“C-Crabbe. C-Crabbe...” he gasped out when he finally managed to stop vomiting, his throat burning and his mouth dry.

“He's dead,” the ginger said harshly, silencing him. They all sat there, in a little circle on the ground, spluttering, trying to regain their breath. It was quite peaceful, actually, until a number of bangs broke the silence, their impact so powerful that the whole castle rocked. The three Gryffindors leaped to their feet, suddenly remembering the circumstances, and pulling out their wands, they rushed into battle, leaving Draco behind, wandless, with an unconscious Goyle.

*

The last time Draco saw Harry was five years later, when they were both twenty-two. He had requested to meet with the Auror, to tell him of his upcoming arranged marriage. They had sat across from each other at a table in the Leaky Cauldron, awkwardly sipping their Firewhiskeys before Draco finally broke the silence.

“I'm getting married,” he said bluntly. There was a pause as Harry absorbed the true meaning of his words before finally saying “Congratulations. Pass it on to the lucky lady...er, or lad.” he said uncertainly.

“It's to Astoria Greengrass. It's an arranged marriage,” he went on to explain. “It'll benefit both our families. The Greengrasses are a meek, insignificant pureblood family with a large sum of money. However, Astoria is their sole heir, and their line will die with her. That's where the Malfoys come in.”

Harry shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. “Oh, well, er, I wish you a happy marriage to Miss Greengrass, all the same.” he finally said.

There was a pregnant pause as both men knocked back their Firewhiskeys before Harry spoke up again.

“I'm getting married, too.” he said. “That is, I proposed to Ginny a couple months ago, and we're tying the knot this summer.”

“That's wonderful,” Draco said flatly, his voice sounding far from wonderful. What did he expect, that Harry would wait for him forever, growing old alone? Still, Ginny...

An unspoken question lingered in the air: Aren't you supposed to be gay? Draco rifled through his head, trying to find a polite way to phrase it, before giving up. The two men sat there in silence with no more Firewhiskey to drink.

Neither man invited the other to their wedding.

~

Draco sighed back in his office, reminiscing. He picked up his wand and flipped it over to its metal base. The Wizarding world had embraced the Muggle idea of mobile phones; they were so much more convenient than any other form of communication, especially on-the-go. Yet, like all things, their version was better.

There was a chip installed in the base of the wand, allowing the user to speak the name into they wished to call into the wand and projecting a small holographic screen of the recipient, who could accept or decline the call. Some more prominent figures, like Harry himself, required a password before the call would be directed. Yet, while Draco didn't know for sure what Harry's was, he knew how the man thought.

“Harry James Potter,” Draco spoke into the wand, crisply enunciating his words. Like the old Floo Network, it was easy for the wand to dial a “Henry Jake Porter” instead. Draco paused.

“Hedwig,” he finally said. The wand beeped, signaling that the call was being made. Draco gave a brief sigh of relief; he'd guessed right. Harry's face appeared projected on the screen.

“Oh, hello, Draco,” he said, surprised.

“Potter, I've been thinking about where we left things, and I do think that, after nineteen years – not counting that one time when we were in our early twenties, of course – it's time for a reconciliation. Are you free, now?” he asked.

“Now? Sure, why not? Third floor, first room,” he said before giving Draco the coordinates. The blonde Apparated into Harry's office.

An frail-looking House elf walked in and offered Draco a Firewhiskey, which he accepted before double-taking.

“Blimey, I knew House elves lived long, but I didn't know they lived this long! Kreacher, do you remember me?” he addressed the shriveled House elf. The old elf looked up, his big eyes looking comical in the middle of his baggy face.

“Good day, Master Draco,” he croaked, bowing out of the room. Draco looked back up to Harry, who was looking at him inquisitively.

“He stayed at the Manor for a while in our fifth-year, and I was instructed to treat him fairly,” he answered the unspoken question innocently.

Harry snorted. “Of course you did.” They both took a swig of their Firewhiskey.

“So, how are the kids? James, Lily, and um...” he trailed off, unable to recall the name of Harry's other son.

“Albus,” Harry supplied him. “He just started school. I received a call from him yesterday night, slightly distraught about being sorted into Slytherin.”

A smile slid onto the blonde's face. “That's a keeper, that one. Although, you can't really chose, now, can you? Scorpius will have good company, then. My son, that is,” he added awkwardly.

“Yes, how is your son?”

“Oh, he's doing well. Mind you, he's nothing like me. Something you're sure to be glad of,” Draco said casually, teasing the other man a little.

“That's too bad, then. You're not bad, after all,” the brunette said quietly. Draco looked up at him staring across at him. They looked at each other, a wordless conversation traveling between them. After all these years, Harry's eyes still had the same affect on him.  _ They're like little pools of light _ , Draco thought, his mind drifting back to their teenaged years. He shook his head, mentally pushing it aside.

Draco cleared his throat, not breaking the stare. “Listen, Potter, about why I came today. I've been thinking about our history, and I don't think we deserved to end it like we did.” He meant the nineteen years of total separation, but Harry interpreted it differently.

“Draco,” he sighed, sounding like a beaten man. “I know we have some unresolved feelings for each other – well, I know I do; I'm assuming you do too, but...” he trailed off, unsure of where he was going with this.

Draco blanched. “Er, actually, I was speaking of the nineteen years without any sort of contact whatsoever...” he said awkwardly.

“Oh. Right,” Harry said just as awkwardly. The two men took another synchronized swig of Firewhiskey, echoing their last true encounter.

“But, no, you're right, Harry. I suppose that's why we had to isolate ourselves from one another. Because of all the undeniable chemistry between us. Do you ever think about the possibilities? Of what could've happened between us?” Draco said softly. His gray eyes pierced into Harry's intrusively until the Auror had to look away.

Harry shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. “Harry, now, am I? Not Potter?” He gave an unsteady laugh, trying to make light of the situation before growing serious. “We're not teenagers anymore, Draco. We can't just throw everything away and restart; we've both got a wife and kids. What will Astoria say?”

“Astoria and I have an arrangement. We both do whatever we want behind closed doors, no questions asked. Right now, she's fucking Zabini. Mind you, so was I, but I broke it off a couple weeks ago because it got too weird. I told you, Potter; there's nothing between us. I mean, she's pretty enough, but I'm gay.” He hesitated before saying the next part. “And so are you.”

It was out in the open, now – the unspoken question from fourteen years ago. Harry took a deep breath and opened his mouth.

“I know,” he admitted finally, to himself, to Draco, to the world again.

“Does Ginny know?” Harry could feel the blonde across from him watching him, his gray eyes trained on his face, more forward than any reporter he had ever encountered, save maybe Rita Skeeter.

“No.”

“How do you live with it?” Harry cringed at the question. __ How did he live with it?

“I don't know,” he said with a wry smile. “I just pretend that I'm not, I guess. I try and forget about it?”

“And does it work?” Draco asked sharply. The corner of Harry's mouth twitched, but he didn't answer. Draco knew the answer, anyway, and for some reason that he couldn't name specifically, it infuriated him.

“You mean to tell me that the great  _ Harry Potter _ has been living in the closet for all these years because he's too  _ ashamed  _ of who he really is?!”

“I'm not ashamed!” Harry said defensively. “I just can't hurt Ginny like that, that's all. She doesn't deserve it, and neither do the kids.”

“I never thought that I'd be having this conversation with you, of all people. And you deserve it?” Draco asked flatly, arching his eyebrow. Silence. Harry squirmed in his chair, clutching his Firewhiskey.

Draco stood up to leave. “Denial isn't a good look on anyone, Potter, not even you,” he said, his eyes traveling slowly down Harry's body. Harry shivered slightly under his stare, which didn't go unnoticed.  _ How could a stare be so sensual? _ He hadn't ever felt like this with Ginny, or Cho, or any other female. Only Draco.

With a dramatic sweep of his robe that could only be described as in-character, Draco Apparated away. Harry sighed, pressing his hand against his temple. With a simple visit, the blonde had opened up the great Pandora's box that Harry had struggled to keep pressed shut all these years. Now, there was no going back. He just wondered how he was ever going to tell Ginny.

*

Harry awoke alone, the other half of the bed cold and unslept in. Feeling around for his glasses, his hands came into contact with something squishy on his bedside table instead. Frowning, he slid on his glasses and glanced over, freezing. Next to where his glasses had been was a single Extendable Ear, along with a strip of parchment messily scrawled on in Ginny's handwriting. “ _ We need to talk.”  _ it read.

Harry sighed, wishing he could go back to bed. Ron was going to kill him. He hoped that Ginny didn't tell him yet. While he was his best friend, Ron was still an overprotective older brother who was willing to murder anyone that stomped on his younger sister's feelings.  _ And so was George, and Percy, and Charlie, and Bill _ , Harry thought, groaning.  _ Well, maybe not Charlie. He might be more lenient, being gay and all _ , he amended, shuddering at the sight of Charlie and his heavily-muscular arms from working with dragons. Harry was in for a long run.

He picked up his wand, the one he used since he was eleven, flipping it over to its metal base. While he certainly had some calls to make, there was one that stood out from all the rest. He pointed the end of his wand at his mouth as said clearly into it “Draco Lucius Malfoy”


End file.
